


Wedge

by Dracones95



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Bi-Curiosity, F/M, M/M, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracones95/pseuds/Dracones95
Summary: Waylon keeps missing red flags, left and right.





	1. Premise

The first time they met it was in the back of the poorly lit, greasy diner that Waylon Park was now using as a small refuge. Eight years, that’s how long he's been working for the damn company that had just dismissed him less than three hours ago on the premise that he just wasn't meeting his quota anymore. He rolled his eyes. Bullshit. Jeremy Blaire, the completely insufferable douche that he had been calling his boss for such a long time, was letting him go to replace him with a friend that he owed a favour.

The generous bite off his burger served as a poor substitute of a fill for the hole that gaped now somewhere between his stomach and his chest. Eating his feelings away wasn't something that he usually did, but it was a lot better than the sting of alcohol down his throat. He wouldn't want to go home to Lisa like that, he hadn't even told her. Lisa, his wife of six years and the mother of his son, who had stuck with him through thick and thin. The source of his hesitation to break the news to her was unknown; he made scenarios inside his head, one more unlikely than the other, before shaking his head briefly, scolding himself. 'It's not the end of the world, we'll manage.' The words he meant to tell her started to sound more and more like an encouragement for himself, rather than for her.

He was oblivious to the eyes drinking in his tormented expression for minutes, while he was busy toying with his food and his phone, overthinking his situation. The man seated two tables away scooted closer to the wall to watch him frown and wipe at his mouth with the now yellow and crumpled napkin; all with a slight smile on his face. It went on for a while, until he decided it was time to act. Waylon jumped when the empty seat across from him was suddenly occupied.

"I'm sorry," the man spoke, "I couldn't help but notice you looked very sad." Waylon wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but something stopped him; he didn't know whether it was the startlingly blue eyes, or his desire to vent to someone who wasn't Lisa, but he didn't voice any protest. The person in front of him was clearly older than him, with broad shoulders that stretched his dress shirt to its limit. He looked far too well dressed to be in a place like this. 

"Any particular reason why you are so upset?" The man continued, his velvety smooth voice takes an edge off his psyche and makes his muscles relax against his better judgement. He looked like a man who worked in a theater, for some reason, a man with the ability to act smoothly different roles. 

"I just got sacked." Waylon mumbled into his glass of coke, watching over the rim as the man painted a sympathetic expression on his face. It didn't make him feel any better.

"I'm sorry," he raised his eyebrows as if he had just remembered something important. "I haven't introduced myself, how rude of me." He extended a large hand over the table. "My name is Eddie." No last name was spoken, exuding an air of familiarity.

"Waylon." His hand was calloused and burning hot, and Waylon could feel it spread to his cheeks for some unfathomable reason. It wasn't like he had something to drink. He eyed the man, although with decreased suspicion. 

"What an interesting place you picked to brood." Eddie smiled, leaning hard into the table, noticing the red colour staining Waylon's features. He was mocking him. "Most just go to the bar." Waylon laughed, short and resembling a bark, finding himself backing into the soft fabric of the booth.

"I didn't want to go home to my wife drunk, I didn't tell her yet." Eddie's face shone with something he didn't recognize, while Waylon wondered why the hell was he telling him all this. 

"Oh, you're married?" Eddie's arms crossed, a smirk splitting his face in two, feeling Waylon get sheepish. "Excuse me if you feel I am questioning you." His elaborate speech caught Waylon's attention. "I have just moved in this town and I am completely by myself." He stiffled an embarrassed laugh with the back of his gloved hand. 

"It's fine, it's fine," Waylon was quick to reassure him. "So no Mrs. then?" His head was lowered, fearing he was crossing a line; he missed the glint and the almost feral expression that crossed his new companion's face.

"No Mrs." He purred.

* * *

"In what universe would I be mad at you?" Lisa scolded him in a gentle tone and he felt silly. He arrived late, and completely forgot to tell her about the encounter at the diner, even though it was the main reason he was even more late than he anticipated. They talked for another half an hour, now that he thinks about it, about nothing interesting in particular, but somehow Eddie's voice remained playing somewhere in the back of his head.

Lisa indeed wasn't angry; she worried, however, and Waylon found it difficult to search for more words to help her calm down. After a while, she stood from the couch they both crashed on while thinking of a solution and announced she'd go back to work. No matter how much Waylon whined.

"We'll manage." She echoed his own mantra for the past few hours.

* * *

 

The next morning, a young woman was found dead.

 


	2. Encounter

_"The body, a woman aged 27, was pulled from a ditch just outside the city of Denver, Colorado, presenting signs of violence. The cause of death has yet to be established."_

Lisa sat cross-legged on the grey sofa, idly eating her scrambled eggs; her brows were slightly furrowed, watching on the screen as the body was zipped up in a black bag. It wasn't uncommon to see such terrible images on tv, but the fact that it happened so close, in their own city, worried her. 

"Have you seen this, Waylon?" She called out to her husband, who appeared from the kitchen carrying a yellow plate filled with eggs and bacon. He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of Lisa's head, sitting down on the sofa's arm. 

"I have, poor thing." He sighed. The news changed from the horrific murder to politics; Lisa finished her food and rested her head against Waylon's thigh.

"He's still asleep," she mumbled, yawning; she hadn't gotten much sleep herself, Waylon was awakened several times by her tossing and turning from side to side. He had felt guilty in those moments, even though she had assured him it wasn't his fault. "Whose turn is it to wake him?" Their son was a heavy sleeper; alarm clocks didn't help at all, so they took turns waking him up each morning when it was time for kindergarten. Waylon swallowed the last piece of bacon, pretending to think; Lisa didn't like this chore, she never wanted to disturb him, it made her feel so bad. Waylon sometimes found her just sitting next to his bed, running late, stroking his hair and smiling at his serene face.

"I'll do it," He kissed her again and she giggled like a schoolgirl, wrapping her thin arms tight around his waist.

* * *

 

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Waylon rubbed his arm where his own metal shopping cart hit him, having recoiled after a rather hard collision with another cart. "I wasn't looking." He mumbled his apology.

The man seemed to be around his age, brunette, with blue eyes that had an almost maniacal spark in them. He waved his hand in dismissal, smiling blindingly at Waylon.  
  
"No problem, I wasn't looking either." He laughed, extending a hand towards him with confidence.

"Miles Upshur, investigative journalist." He exclaimed, inflating his chest with importance. Waylon blinked, taken aback; people you accidentally hit with shopping carts don't usually introduce themselves. The man seemed overly friendly and happy, beaming even. He decided that two can play that game.

"Waylon Park, recently fired." He joked, shrugging.

"Oh man, I'm sorry," Miles was genuinely sympathetic; as a person who appeared to love his job unconditionally, he kind of expected that kind of reaction.

"It's fine, I'm over them." He laughed, and Miles shook his head lightly, smile back on his face.

They walked together to the cash register, learning that Miles was preparing for a trip to the countryside, for work.

"I'm looking into that case with the dead woman." Miles said out of the blue, and Waylon could tell that he was dying to share that with somebody. He was passionate about his work, he could tell; the crazy kind that would go by themselves at night to investigate some haunted house or mental hospital.

"Those injuries," Miles shuddered, emphasizing his words. "They were vicious, man. And crazy thing is, there have been similar cases around the state. Not carbon copies, but still, pretty similar." He started unloading all of his groceries on the conveyor belt; Waylon spotted two six packs of beer and three packets of coffee and he couldn't help but smile. Fortunately, Miles didn't see him; it was clearly not an appropriate reaction to what he was telling him. "We could be dealing with a serial killer." He concluded, throwing a toothbrush on top of the pile.

Waylon leaned into his shopping cart, mind flying back to earlier in the morning, and the body bag on the tv screen. Clearly Miles knew more than him about the case, but the thought of a serial killer seemed ridiculous, although not entirely impossible. The proximity to his home was what gave it an air of surrealism, like it was hard to wrap his head around the idea that such a twisted human being could exist so close to him and his family.

"Could be," he said, not wanting to argue with Miles. "Is this what your trip is about?"

Miles nodded vigorously, taking a few bills out of his brown leather wallet. "Yes, I think I might be onto something here."

"Well, good luck then, I guess." The whole situation was slightly too macabre for Wayon's taste, but Miles smiled and shook his hand one more time.

"Maybe I'll see you around!" He yelled after him while strolling away with his trip supplies, making a few heads turn. Odd, Waylon thought. This was the second person already who had struck a conversation with him out of nowhere; well, Miles was kind of his fault, since he hit the man with the cart. Still, did people truly find him so approachable? He was used to being a little bit of an outcast, at school, at work, even at home, with his two brothers, he still felt as if not enough attention was coming his way.

* * *

 

"You're being weird about it, he was just being friendly," Lisa said in between bites, while they sat at the dinner table that evening. He told her about what happened at the grocery store and she laughed about it for a moment, amused by the accident and by Waylon's description of Miles.

"He was legit buzzing with anticipation, he couldn't wait to tell me about some dead woman he was writing reports about." Waylon stabbed at his steak, a bit too hard; Lisa briefly glanced at her son, but he was too busy with his fries to care about his parents' conversation.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about that right now." She said, expression sober; Waylon nodded in agreement, and silence fell over the kitchen table.

After a while, Lisa grew restless. She set her fork on the table, clearing her throat as if she had an announcement; Waylon's head snapped towards her, waiting.

"You see right through me, don't you?" She laughed, wiping her lipstick off with her napkin. "I might get a job," she beamed at Waylon, whose eyes widened.

"This fast? Great, that's awesome!" He was way too enthusiastic and Lisa raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. She was happy, and when she was happy, Waylon was too. Her face looked angelic when she smiled, warming up his soul. He wouldn't ever do anything to harm her, not intentionally.

"Something is bothering you," she stated, fifteen minutes later when they remained alone in the kitchen. Waylon put another plate on top of the stash in the sink, shaking his head.

"I'm just stressed, I think." He sighed; she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulderblade, listening to his heart beat into his chest rapidly. "I don't like you working and me doing nothing, that's all." She let him go and suddenly he felt cold, missing her heat against him.

"You're not doing nothing." She said. "You're taking care of the kid, you're helping me." He turned around to see her stand with her arms crossed in front of her chest, staring him down. "You're doing what I was doing when you were working. Did you believe then that I was doing nothing?"

Her voice held an edge and Waylon suddenly felt worse; he shook his head, wiping his face with his still wet hand, from the dishes. "No, no, of course not." He said, surprising himself with how tired he sounded. "I'm an idiot, that's not what I meant."

Lisa smiles, her tense posture loosening.

"I know that's not what you meant."

She stood on her tip-toes, kissing his forehead like she would kiss a child; her warmth was back, engulfing Waylon's entire being.

* * *

 

"I just realized you never told me what job it is." Waylon said suddenly, almost startling Lisa, who was reading a book beside him.

"Yes, cause you were busy being an idiot." She giggled; Waylon couldn't argue with that. He was used to working a 9 to 5 job so much that losing it felt like he lost his purpose in life. He sighed; he slaved himself away, and for what? He never realized, until now, how little time he was spending with his family.

"It's nothing big," Lisa started. "You know how my mom taught me how to use a sewing machine." Waylon nodded; Lisa's relationship with her mom was one of the few things he envied another person for. "Someone bought the old tailor shop by the Commons Park and want to reopen it as soon as possible, and the pay is not half bad." She shrugged, trying to sound indifferent but Waylon could tell she was excited. The prospect of going back to work fulfilled one of her more selfish desires. Waylon smiled; she needed that.

"I'll give it a try, if it's not working out, I'll try something new. I know it's nothing compared to your old workplace, but..."

Waylon pressed his lips against her mouth, silencing her rambling.

"You'll do well, I'm sure of that." He whispered against her skin, pushing her book aside to engulf her in a warm embrace.


End file.
